


Five times Tim didn't show up in a photo (and one time he did. Kinda.)

by Tht0neGal666



Series: Rose Colored Glasses on Your Noses [1]
Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Addams Family Levels of Violence, Addams Family References, Alternate Universe - Addams Family Fusion, BAMF Tim Drake, Banter, Batfamily (DCU), Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Damian Wayne is a Brat, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Humor, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Love, Minor Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Tim Drake, Photographer Tim Drake, Photography, Platonic Relationships, Protective Barbara Gordon, Protective Cassandra Cain, Protective Tim Drake, Sibling Love, Stalker Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown Gets a Hug, Teasing, Tim Drake is an Addams, Tim Drake-centric, Trust Issues, Violent Thoughts, Young Dick Grayson, Young Tim Drake, but like not in a mean way? in an addams way, rooftop talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tht0neGal666/pseuds/Tht0neGal666
Summary: "You do not like pictures." Cass says suddenly, appearing out of no where with what must be the explicit intent to give Tim a heart attack. Or at least scare him off the ledge he was sitting on.Jokes on her. He stopped falling for that trick years ago, thanks to Pugsley. The little shit."What do you mean? I love pictures." He countered, raising his camera pointedly, brows drawn in confusion.Cass shook her head, squinting at him. "You like taking pictures. But you don't like being in them."--or: Tim has a secret, one he's actually managed to keep from his family in gotham; his blood is older then most history, and he can be whoever he wants. He is an Addams, after all.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Rose Colored Glasses on Your Noses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161704
Comments: 49
Kudos: 394





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentines day! Who ordered a heaping order of platonic love for this sickly sweet occasion, punctuated by mildly-dark undertones?  
> ....just me? chill! Have this anyway <3

Addams's are _many_ things. Resilient. Eccentric. Obsessive. Stubborn. Eternally, _undyingly_ loyal, and so full of love that it can burn them up from the inside without an outlet, even though their methods of expression may seem....strange. 

And, for all their oddities, Addams's are _human._ On a strictly scientific level, from fingertips to blood to DNA, there's nothing inhuman about them.

But every family had it's secrets, its traditions, it's _histories,_ and the Addams's are a _family_ before anything else. 

\--

Tim Drake is four years old, the first time he poses for a picture.

Well, _poses_ is a strong word- they Grayson's, _they_ were posing, all angles and energy and confidence, stances as wide as their smiles. They sat him on the lap of Dick Grayson, the youngest, and Tim catches his reflection in the lens of the camera. Watches, more then a little transfixed, as his eyes shifted color to match Dick's

He giggled and buried his head into the shoulder of the boy, between the flash of the camera and the _click_ of the picture, a perfectly timed blur of his face.

"Oh!" Dick giggled, patting Tim's head carefully, "Are you okay? Scared? The circus is not scary! It is _fun!_ " He assured brightly, lifting Tim up, and Tim let out an excited squeal as Dick swayed him around a bit. "You have to be _still_ for a good picture, silly!"

"That's quite alright." Mother assured the acrobats, swiping Tim from Dick's grasp quickly, but not unkindly. "We really _must_ be going, before all of the good spots are taken."

Dick pouted at the claim, but shook the gloominess off immediately, and turned his shining smile back on Tim. "Okay! But I will do a quadruple somersault for you, to make up for the picture! have fun, little Tim!" He promised, waving enthusiastically until Tim gave a little wave back, then spinning back to entertain the next people in line. If Mother and dad weren't pulling him along, Tim would have frozen in place- attention like that was, in all senses of the word, absolutely _stunning._

Tim picked up his pace before it was commented on and twitched his nose, trying to get it _just_ right. A little long, but still soft with youth- was there a beauty mark on the side of Dick's nose? 

Quickly, his dad found them seats, and Tim silently tried to grab the photo of the Grayson's. His mother caught his eye with a sharp, assessing look, but ended up handing him the picture, which he took as the permission it was.

Tim's face was blurry, the only smudge of movement in the entire picture, but the faces of the Grayson's are bright and clear and positioned _perfectly_ in the light to be captured. John Grayson had laugh lines that couldn't be entirely covered by whatever stage makeup he was wearing, and Mary had _freckles_ that she must've chosen not to cover, that Dick may or may not share under his own makeup.

And he _did_ have a beauty mark on the side of his nose, like Tim thought, but on closer inspection it might actually be makeup as well. He doesn't copy it, but he _does_ copy Mary's freckles, and idly wishes he had more pictures to reference, more angles and points of comparison. He settles carefully into his seat and is pretty sure that if he's mostly quiet and still during the show, his Mother will let him get another picture with them on the way out, or maybe even come back to the circus next year.

(Needless to say, she doesn't, and they don't. It's _years_ before he meets Dick Grayson again. 

But, sometimes, when he feels a little too alone, he takes robin-egg blue eyes and angel-kiss freckles with him when he goes bird-watching at night.)

\--

Something to note, on the Addams's; they don't _stop_ being human. Not unless they want to, not unless they _try_ to. This can mean lots of things, but it really boils down to three;

First- An Addams doesn't fear the occult, doesn't shy from witchcraft. They are exactly as human as they please, and there is nothing it can do to them that they don't wish, no risk factor at all if you know what you're doing.

They come from several long lines of Wicca, and very, _very_ rarely don't know what they're doing. 

Second- An Addams is _exactly_ the person they wish to be. Age, height, hair, eyes, skin, abnormalities- if it's Human, then it can be Addams, just as they wish.

His cousins have been children for decades now, their ages crawling along slowly, and his mother skipped most her her twenties. 

Third- When an Addams is killed, they do not have to stop being human. They do not have to _start_ being a corpse. 

They are human, alive and anatomically normal, for _exactly_ as long as they wish to be, and there's really nothing to be done about it.

\--  


"What are you?" Ms.Gordon asks, no preamble, when he entered the library one day.

"What do you mean?" He asks, confusion pinching his pitch and expression perfectly.  


She squints suspiciously, and he shifts uncomfortably. The library is empty, and fairly dark.  


Well. This is going to be _fun._

"You- I don't have any footage of you." She explains. "None at all. I've checked, and then I slipped into the the Batcave and checked there- nothing. Not even school pictures, or press releases typical for a company heir. Do cameras not pick you up?" She demanded.

Tim laughed. It wasn't even fake, this was just _funny._  


"I'm not a _vampire,_ Ms.Gordon." He giggles, shaking his head. Hair falls over his face, and he doesn't tuck it back behind his ears. "I'm just camera shy. Is that a crime now?"

"No." Ms.Gordon claims, but her tone says otherwise. It makes him bite his lip on another laugh. "But this is...a bit extreme, if that was all. You're hiding something."

"Of _course_ I'm hiding something." Tim nods easily. The admittance freezes Barbara in place, and he rolls his eyes. "Ms.Gordon, all due respect, but I know the streets and roofs of Gotham better then my own house. I stalked Batman and Robin _and you_ without being caught for half a decade. Of _course_ I can avoid cameras. Especially when I only really leave my house for school and at night for everything else. Ms.Kyle does it too, I'm sure."

He wasn't sure, actually. He was guessing. Still, he was pretty confident.

Ms.Gordon pursed her lips, and then he _was_ sure.  


"And?" She prompted tensely. Tim sighed. He _had_ thought that Dick, Alfred, and Bruce were a little too trusting, even if they weren't exactly _welcoming._ They tended to take 'I knew your Identity for years and didn't reveal it' as enough to trust him, as much as Bats trusted anyone.

He supposed _someone_ had to be extra cautious, extra sure, and he wasn't the least surprised that it was Ms.Gordon. She was always genius, and _exceedingly_ paranoid, now that she had lost use of her legs. Really, he'd rather it be her then anyone else. He adored Dick and respected Bruce and admired Alfred, but he probably trusted Ms.Gordon's judgement most.

Even if it very well might turn _against him,_ pretty soon here. He hoped it didn't.  


"And of _course_ I'm hiding something." He repeated obligingly. She squinted, studying his face like she's taking a mental picture of it, and he turned away, pretending to straighten books. It wasn't a convincing distraction, but it was one she allowed, which was good enough. "I've spent my _entire life_ getting better at hiding. Hiding and knowing things, just in case. I'm 'hiding' lots of stuff. But nothing that will hurt you or yours, Ms.Gordon because they're _mine_ , too." He explained, terms clear and blunt.

"If that's so, they why don't you just _tell me?"_ She frowned, drumming her fingers on her leg. He wondered if there was phantom feeling below her fingertips at the motion.

"I don't have to." He admitted. "It's...important to me, but not anyone else. I don't like being on camera. I'm allowed to have preferences, and I'm skilled enough to accommodate them. It's really not that deep, Ms.Gordon."

She studied him for a long time and, against his better judgement, he met her eyes with an icy blue. He hasn't been using his mother's eyes much lately, too wrapped up in the after-images of _Jason,_ but he was making a point, an important one, and he would do it as himself. Or, at least, as close as he could figure right now- he still wasn't quite sure.

(There's a beauty mark on the side of his nose. She won't recognize it. It _was_ makeup, all those years ago.)

"Call me Barbara, kid." She finally sighed, leaning back in her seat. "I'm not that old. I'm just experienced, and _very_ good at what I do."

Tim nods, reading the underlying message clearly. She made it hard to miss.

_What she does is protect, and eliminate threats. She was trusting him, tentatively. He probably wouldn't survive fucking that up._

He doesn't mention that she can't kill him in a way that matters, half because it would be antithetical to what he was trying to do here, and half because that wasn't the point. She didn't have to kill him to get rid of him.

"If you say so, Barbara." He nodded, and she nodded back.

He spent the rest of the day _actually_ organizing books for her, which technically she wasn't supposed to let him do, but it's not like either of them would tell. Slowly, he felt them click into their hopeful truce, and bounced a bit on his feet.

Barbara smiled at him when he left, less tight then he would expect, and he waved. He slipped into shadows on his way back to the manor, let his eyes slide from ice to cyan, hardened his jawline a bit, curled his hair at the tips, and finally let himself think that things might work out.  


\--

The Addams's are human- that's normal enough. But, scientific verification or not, no one has ever accused the Addams's of _normality._

So they are human, of course, but from there it's...iffy. Their family is all about trust and comfort and _expression._

Their family takes ' _Be whoever you want_ ' and _'live life to the fullest'_ as nothing short of a challenge.

\--  


"Say cheese!" Stephanie cheers, appearing out of _nowhere,_ and Tim immediately twists around and buries his head in the couch cushions, managing to not knock over his work with nothing less then a _miracle_. 

A familiar metallic _click_ , followed shortly by even more familiar whining and fingernails playfully prodding his form.  


_"Steph."_ He groaned dramatically, muffled by pillows, only just managing to stifle giggles _._

_"Tim."_ She mimicked, shooting a sneaky finger into his side and making him _squirm,_ but he perseveres. He's _Robin._

"You need to _stop_ this! You almost messed up my casework again!" He scolded, wishing he could turn his head to glare at her, but all too aware that she's waiting for _exactly_ that.

"This is all your fault!" She huffed. "If you _really_ wanted me to stop, you'd just let me get a picture!"

_"No."_ He hissed, not for the first time. Probably not for the last time either. She'd been doing this for _weeks_ at this point, trying to sneak up on him and steal a candid photo.

"Well then I'll have to take one myself!" She insisted, sounding far too put upon for someone who's 'burden' is entirely self imposed.

"Then at _least_ save it for patrol. I have to _focus_ right now." He reminded her. She tugged firmly on his hair, but Tim just gripped the pillow tighter.

"You _let me_ take pictures of you on patrol, though." She sighed. "That's not the same."

"Why not?" He challenged petulantly, so muffled by the pillow he's not sure she hears.

"I don't want a picture of _Robin,_ you dork _._ I just want a picture of _you."_ She stressed, worming fingers down the pillow and tugging at his ear.

He hissed in pain at that, trying to ignore the weird pang the claim sent to his chest.

It's- He _couldn't._ Not right now. He still didn't have an skin he was comfortable enough in to keep, not completely, and the looming shadow of expectations and Robins and _plans plans plans_ made it all but _impossible_ to even know the difference between what he _wants_ to look like and what he thinks he _needs_ to look like, and the thought of having his picture taken, something that could be permanent, before he was even someone he _wanted_ to be-  


Tim has always been camera shy, at least outside of _family_ gatherings, but it had developed into what was almost a phobia at this point.

He and Steph had turned it into a game, but he knew, deep down, that eventually she'd catch on to the fact it wasn't just him being prideful or stubborn or whatever, and then they'd have to have a _conversation,_ and he had absolutely no idea what he'd say.

For now, though, he shifted carefully to get a grip on the ends of a blanket, took a deep breathe, and _twisted._

Steph screeched, as he rolled them off of the couch and tucked her head under the blanket, a knee finding the wrist holding the stupid little disposable camera and pinning it down. She struggled, but he had the benefit of surprise, and he made quick work of prying the camera from her and leaping back, towards the window, and disassembled it with practiced ease- it wasn't his camera, but it was _a_ camera, and it didn't stand a chance against his practiced fingers and emergency screwdriver.

By the time Steph finally got up and lunged at him, he was grinning deviously above the scattered pieces of the camera. She grabbed him by the collar, glowering, and Tim _finally_ let the bubbling amused sounds fall out of his mouth. 

"You win this round, boyfriend wonder." She growled, but she was smiling by the time they got to the couch and she put on an old barbie movie, so he was probably in the clear.

Tim didn't get back to work, that night. He didn't dare complain about it, though- Steph's elbows were _sharp._  


(And also he loved her so much it hurt _._ There was that too.)  


\--

All of the Bats find the way metas are dismissive of non-metas varying degrees of annoying and amusing, but Timothy Drake has trouble not laughing aloud at the sentiment whenever it's voiced, no matter how many years have passed.

Because- well, because he grew up in _Gotham,_ where Men were the greatest of Monsters, and one of the first things any Gothamite child learns is that the most dangerous person will _always_ be the one with either the most to loose or the most to prove. Metas just _don't_ understand being weak like that, or at least the ones that are _Heroes_ don't, and its easily one of their most exploitable flaws as a collective.

But that's why _all_ the bats react like they do. Tim, more importantly, is an _Addams._

\--

"You do not like pictures." Cass says suddenly, appearing out of no where with what must be the _explicit_ intent to give Tim a heart attack. Or at least scare him off the ledge he was sitting on.

Jokes on her. He stopped falling for _that_ trick _years ago_ , thanks to Pugsley. The little shit.

"What do you mean? I _love_ pictures." He countered, raising his camera pointedly, brows drawn in confusion.

Cass shook her head, squinting at him. "You like taking pictures. But you _don't_ like being in them." she elaborated, tilting her head.

"Oh. You noticed that?" Tim asked with an awkward chuckle, scratching his cheek. 

Cass nodded. "I think...Everyone has." She claimed, sitting down besides him. he wished the claim surprised him more. "But _why?"_

He bit his lip, turning explanations around in his head. "Pictures seem...permanent, I guess. When you take a picture, you know _exactly_ what that moment looked like. And a lot of the time, I don't think I really _want_ those little imortalizations, of myself."

"You...don't like how you look?" She frowned, scooting closer to him. 

"Its not that." He shrugged, leaning his head on his shoulder and picking up his camera. The sunset was _beautiful._ from the right angle, on nights especially cloudy, it made the sky look like it was on fire. He took a picture, inspecting and then storing the instant-print photo. He generally preferred to develop the film, but he wouldn't have time to tonight. "I just...I dunno how to explain it. I just get all anxious when I see myself. Like it isn't quite _right_ yet? Maybe like dysphoria, but not bad?"

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he laid his head on hers. 

"Hm." She sighed, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie silently. he caught their reflection in a surprisingly reflective window. "I don't think I get it." She admitted. "Why do you like taking pictures?"

Tim perked up a little at the question, having to go _very still_ to stop from any major appearance changes, but unable to stop freckles from rippling across his skin. A voice that sounded an awful lot like his mother chided him about _getting too comfortable._ "Because I....I need to, I guess." He whispered, face heating up, and was suddenly glad Cass wasn't in position to see his face. It didn't _really_ matter, because she was _cass_ and they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, so she could _absolutely_ tell anyway, but. Still. "It's like....Its hard to remember why I do all this, sometimes. Why the- the hurt and death and _struggle_ is worth it. And it's because of the little things. The sunsets, the small kindnesses people do when they think no one is looking. It's about the _smile_ that Dick only has around _us,_ and the coffee stains Bruce doesn't notice on his shirts in the morning, and the tender way Damian looks at his cat, and how at _peace_ you look when you dance, and the light shining through Steph's hair and into her eyes when she _laughs-"_ He melts into her side a little more, smile twisting his face so much its _also_ a little embarrassing. Cass holds him tighter.

He positions the camera carefully, waits for the sun to flash _just right_ as it falls out of the sky, and _clicks_ the shot. He doesn't think Cass notices, lost in thought.

"That's a good reason." She nods eventually, and the reassurance uncoils a nervousness he didn't even know he felt. "It's....There's so much _bad._ It's important to remember the good. Pictures are a good way. Very clever. But...." She pauses, unsure, a emotion Tim _rarely_ hears from his sister. "You... _you_ are part of the good, too. You should remember yourself, not just everyone else."

Tim inspects the photo as it prints. It's him and Cass, sitting on the ledge of a roof, a sky full of hellfire hanging above them, flaring so _bright_ for a moment that it blurs the photo a bit with shadows, the outline of a gargoyle or three leering in the background. Cass's eyes are glazed over with thought, but she is relaxed as she leans on him, and a soft smile quirks her lips. Most of Tim's face is strategically covered by the camera and his hands, but his excited grin is very _carefully_ visible, and he's all but _draped_ across his sister. Wind blows their hair out behind them, and their clothes are dark enough that you have to squint to tell where Cass starts and Tim ends. It makes his heart swell with adoration, and he decides not to put it his bag with the others.

"I do." He promises, gently passing the photo to her. she lifts her head a bit to look at it, and he kisses the side of her head. _"I do._ But memory is a fickle thing, and I want to make _sure_ I have and remember everything and everyone else. I always have myself, for better or for worse."

"For better." She declares firmly, touching the photo softly a she looked at it. " _Definitely_ for better. but you always have us, too. You always have me." She tried to pass the photo back after a moment, but even _he_ could see the reluctance. He shook his head and pushed it back to her.

"You can't promise that." He said, not scornful or mocking, just tired. He was...He was so _tired_ of people dying. Seances didn't _work_ with just one person, but he only had himself in Gotham, and he couldn't talk to his family about it-either of them- because they wouldn't understand. They _couldn't_ understand the balance he had to keep, between Addams and Drake and Wayne and _Bat_.

(Family secrets are meant to be _shared._ Despite his mother's best efforts, the fact remains- an Addams isn't meant to function _alone,_ and most of their tricks can't do so either.)

Jason died, and _that_ was mostly fine. He didn't blame himself too much, especially when he told his cousins and they helped him with a few seances. His Mother died, and that was more _frustrating_ then anything else, and then his Dad, and Dana, and _that_ was sad. He could still talk to all of them when he visited his family, though. Really, he saw them about as much as he used to anyway. He wasn't sure if that said more about his family's knack for the supernatural or his childhood neglect, but the fact stood. It was like they never left.

No one was _ever_ really _left_ , he guessed. Not as long as you knew how to talk to them, and had a bit of help.

But then Kon and Bart died, and it tore him _apart_ because he couldn't do _anything_ about it. He had _no idea_ how much his family knew about his vigilantism, but plausible deniability was his second closest friend, so he had to grieve like a _normal person,_ and it was the worst thing ever. It almost broke him.

Steph _would_ have broken him, no doubt about it. Steph didn't die, he got there just in time, and it almost broke him anyways. And- he wasn't sure if he could get away with doing what he did to Steph to anyone else. Probably not any of his brothers, absolutely not Bruce. 

( _God,_ Bruce. If Tim didn't know, in his bones and blood and soul, that Bruce was _alive,_ no matter what _anyone_ said, that might've broke him too. Maybe. He wasn't sure. He didn't _want_ to be.)

Maybe...Maybe he could do it with Cass. Maybe his teammates (now that they were _alive_ again), maybe Tam, possibly Alfred, probably Pru. But he didn't want to _have_ to, not like that, and he was so _tired._

"I...can't." Cass admitted, words so quiet they're almost swallowed by the wind, but he hears her. He _always_ hears her. "I can't promise. But I'm going to anyway."

He closes his eyes, tightens his grip, and hopes beyond hope that, just this once, someone won't slip away. Won't _leave him._

"Okay." He sighs. In his head, Aunt Morticia's voice whispers _Family is everything, Timothy. Choose wisely._ " _Okay._ Thanks, Cass."

"Anything for my little brother." She teases lightly, starting to play with his hair.

Tim doesn't take another picture. He doesn't have to.

\--

With relatives like his, with whispered tales that historians would _kill_ for, with lessons carved into his bones and promises tied around his brain and _love love love_ pumping his heart-

To Tim, the thought of taking _human_ as an insult was just plain laughable, no two ways about it.

So he laughed- because, among other things, humanity is about _expression._

\--

"Drake." The demon brat trills, sounding some variation of _pleased_ with himself, which was almost always much worse then when he was straight up angry at Tim. At least anger could be _manipulated_ or _misdirected._ That mocking tone was generally just something Tim had to ride out and remind himself that Damian, despite how he acts, is _not_ one of his cousins, and Tim retaliating will lead to at _best_ suspicion and at _worst_ a maimed or dead child. He couldn't just cut the kids fingers off and scatter them in the backyard to keep him busy for a few hours, and he couldn't even challenge him to a duel because the kid was _insane_ and would _kill him_ and then Tim would have to explain why he wasn't dead.

Between his line being cut and Jason's general tinted green existence, Tim not dying via fratricide was bound to slip from _miracle_ territory into _logistically impossible_ eventually _._ He was on thin enough ice without provoking the kid, which Steph was all too willing to remind him. Jerk.

"Damian." He nods, not looking at the boy. It was like all those stupid anti-bullying assemblies said in middle school- sometimes, not reacting makes the kid angry or bored, because, for all his training and lethality, he's also still, like, 11, so basic stuff like that worked on him.

"I have realized something, recently." He said leadingly. Tim cut a paragraph of his report and pasted it further down to reincorporate later; it was too opinionated to be in the report proper.

"You're a smart kid. I'd hope you realize a few things, every once in a while." Tim shrugged. He didn't look, but he could still see the kid's face twitch with annoyance, then continue as if he hadn't heard. Admittedly funny in it's own right, but not what he was hoping for.

"Father keeps photos of his 'Family' scattered throughout the manor." Damian said. Tim paused his typing to keep his lips from twitching up in a smile, because he knew where this was going, but Damian must have taken it as something more negative, as he stalked closer, voice dropping to a purr.

The Drama Club that Alfred signed him up for must be working wonders, because he had turned his Arrogant Raving voice had evolved into a _killer_ Evil Monologue voice. The Addams part of Tim, which had an _annoying_ affection for the kid, all but _purred_ with pride. 

"Your point?" Tim shrugged, pursing his lips and trying to keep his brain focused on this report. If he got distracted, he would _not_ refocus on this in a timely manner. Or, in all likelihood, _at all._

"My _point,_ Drake, is that I cannot help but notice your lack of presence in _any_ of them." The boy drawls smugly. "I checked thoroughly, and you don't appear once. It seems that father can't bear to look at you more then he absolutely _must_." Damian hissed with sadistic glee.

Tim resigned himself to distraction and saved his work as a draft, finally turning to look at the kid with a raised eyebrow. He probably wouldn't forget about it for too long- Tam would bully him into finishing it eventually. "Hate to break it to you," He lied, "but I took most of those photos myself. Besides, _Alfred_ is rarely in photos like that either." He yawned, stretching his arms and feeling his bones pop more noisily then is probably normal. It was probably fine.

Damian made a face at the noise, somewhere between disgust and concern, and ends up just looking a bit like a grumpy kitten.

 _They grow up so fast._ A mental voice that sounded drearily like Uncle Gomez cooed. _It feels like only yesterday he was trying to murder me for adding him to a hit list._

"But he is still in _some._ You are not." the kid points out, like that actually really means anything. Tim doesn't dignify it with an argument.

"Mhm. Tragic, really. Did you need something, Damian?" 

Damian prickled and then opened his mouth to say something tart, but cut himself off with a strange flash in his expression. Something a bit like _realization._ Tim purses his lips cautiously and watches the brat.

"You....do not _wish_ to have your photo up." Damian said slowly, like he was realizing it in real time.

"No, Damian. I had issues about having my picture taken, for a while." Tim admits, mostly because it isn't true _anymore,_ so it didn't matter if the kid knew _._ He didn't think anyone had really noticed, most of the family having long since grown accustomed and accepting of his hesitance around cameras that weren't in his own hands, but he has recently managed to mostly settle into his own skin. 

(He honestly couldn't wait to give Stephanie a few pictures of himself, for her birthday. Out of context it seemed really narcissistic and vain, but he was pretty sure she'd appreciate it. She had that weird fixation on it for a few months before her death, and then they never really talked about it after. It was a bit of a stretch to assume that she even _remembers,_ but he supposed he'll see when she either loves the pictures or doesn't. He has a back up present idea anyway.)

"Oh? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that _you_ couldn't stand the sight of yourself. An embarrassing smudge in _any-"_

"Did you _need something,_ Damian?" Tim cut the brat off, resisting the urge to cut out Damian's tongue and settling for pinching the bridge of his nose. By all accounts, he _really_ shouldn't be allowed to interact with Damian, one one one. "Because, if not, I'd like to get back to running _your father's_ company."

Damian huffed, but left the room when Tim went back to ignoring him, because he's _eleven_ and Tim is literally always right.

He felt a pleasant tingle of dread crawl up his spine, and idly wondered what the hell _that_ meant. 

(It was probably fine.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tim." Cassandra answered, looking for the words. "He was...curious. He confronted Tim about not having any pictures of himself in the manor, and Tim told him it was something he used to be sensitive about."
> 
> "Used to be?" Stephanie gasped. A moment later, Cassandra would swear she heard the blonde's teeth grate. "I'm going to kill him, why didn't he tell me?" She demanded hotly.
> 
> Cassandra was, all of a sudden, very glad she didn't live in the manor. She had the distinct feeling that it was about to become a verifiable war-zone.

The conversation with Drake was _not_ bothering him. Of course it wasn't. Drake wasn't worth the air he breathed, much less any of Damian's thoughts, and he was _not_ concerned or interested or anything of the sort.

He was just....suspicious. Drake was _hiding_ something, Damian could just _feel_ it. there was something more to his reason, and Damian was going to find out what, because otherwise his threat assessment on his rival would be incomplete. Damian had no doubt about his ability to defeat Drake, but he wouldn't just _assume_ something like that either. Assumptions like that were for imbeciles looking to get _killed,_ no matter their skill.

So he embarked, in an entirely unbothered way, on a self-assigned information gathering mission. And he started with Gordon.

His first thought was Brown, because her and Drake clung to each other like wet paper, but she was unlikely to tell him much about Drake for that exact reason. Damian had no desire to risk talking to Cain for similar reasons, or Todd for opposite ones- he likely wouldn't know anything useful, anyway. Grayson, for all his naivete, would probably be suspicious, and father _definitely_ would be. 

Thus, Gordon was the best option, he decided firmly as he knocked politely on the entrance to her base of operations. He wouldn't usually bother with the courtesy, but he would want to be in her good graces for this conversation.

A beat of silence, and the door was opened by- _damn._ Cain, staring at him with a raised eyebrow that he did his best to meet.

He didn't have a _problem_ with Cain, honestly, he was just wary of her. _As he should be._ The One Who Is All is an asset even his grandfather didn't want to face in battle, and Damian had admitted to himself long ago that he wasn't par with her yet. He was biding his time- he'd have to. Out of everyone in Father's so called _clan,_ Cain was the one most likely to challenge him for the cowl, one day, and that simply couldn't stand.

"What do you need, Damian?" Gordon's voice called from inside the room, and Cain moved aside to let him in. He walked in to stand behind Gordon, but kept Cain in his peripherals as best he could anyway. Just in case.

"It's about Drake." He said plainly, watching the redhead closely, and _there._ She went tense, and her expression went cold, and he _knew_ she didn't trust Drake either. Or, at least, knew more then any of the fools that took him at face value for whatever reason. 

"It's _what_ about Tim?" She prodded, even going so far as to glance away from her monitor for a moment, and Damian resisted the urge to preen with the sensation of a job well done. He was getting ahead of himself.

"He is hiding something." Damian verbally acknowledged, though he was sure she already knew that much.

She nodded like she did, too. "Tim is usually hiding something." She agrees, tone almost _wistful,_ in a way that makes him want to purse his lips. What did _that_ mean?

\--

"He is...not displayed alongside the rest of them." Damian expanded, fishing for more of a reaction.

"Tim is camera shy." Cassandra informed with a note of challenge, not even a foot away from the boy. If he wanted a reaction, he could get one. She liked Damian well enough, probably better then most, but Tim was her _brother,_ and no one besides Stephanie ever seemed to bother defending him.

"He mentioned that he was." Damian nodded, carefully careless. "But, given that he no longer is, I would have expected one of you lot to...rectify it."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, and was surprised to find that he was being honest. She gave Barbara a small nod, and Barbara hummed.

"Probably force of habit." Barbara decided on saying, though something _curious_ was shining behind her eyes. "I'm not sure anyone noticed he'd gotten over his...hesitance."

_"I don't want those little imortalizations of myself."_

Cassandra was curious too. Damian wasn't lying, but maybe he was wrong. 

"Hm." Damian slumped, just the slightest bit, disappointed. "And here I thought at least _you_ were more observant then that, Gordon." A slight pause, where he pretended to forget she was there, and then- "Cain. I suppose I'll be on my way, then if you're of no use to me."

Barbara shook her head and got back to work. No matter how _curious_ she was, she had more important things to do. Cass deliberated for a moment, decided that she _didn't,_ and followed Damian out with a wave to Barbara.

The boy didn't notice her, of course. He was good, but she was _better._ He hesitated on a rooftop, obviously unsure whether he'd rather travel by rooftop or street. It was still daytime, only an hour before sunset. He had visited at a strange time, but she supposed it made sense. He probably didn't get much time to himself. 

Her phone vibrated just as Damian scowled and made his way down to the street, slipping into the crowd expertly. She answered the call and followed from the rooftops- it'd be easier to both loose him and be noticed by him, in a crowd.

"Cass!" Stephanie greeted, distressed, but not very genuinely so. Cassandra nodded, then remembered Stephanie couldn't see her, and hummed an acknowledgement instead. "Where's Damian? He's supposed to patrol with me tonight, but he wasn't slinking around the cave, so I asked Babs and she told me to ask you." She said, all in one breathe. Halfway through her sentance, Cassandra had raised the phone to get a picture of the little Robin and send it to Stephanie.

"He's on his way back. I'm following him." She reassured, almost _too_ perfectly timed with the little message being marked as _Read._

"Thanks, 'ppriciate that." Steph sighed, with what was probably relief, and Cass suppressed her discomfort. She _hated_ phone-calls, hated not being able to see people as they talked. It made her feel like she was _missing_ something about the conversation. "What's he doing all the way out there, anyway? It's the middle of the day."

"Tim." Cassandra answered, looking for the words. "He was...curious. He confronted Tim about not having any pictures of himself in the manor, and Tim told him it was something he used to be sensitive about."

 _"Used to be?"_ Stephanie gasped. A moment later, Cassandra would _swear_ she heard the blonde's teeth grate. "I'm going to _kill_ him, why didn't he _tell_ me?" She demanded hotly. 

Cassandra was, all of a sudden, _very_ glad she didn't live in the manor. She had the distinct feeling that it was about to become a verifiable war-zone.

Well, it was _always_ a war-zone, but more-so then usual. And she would almost definitely get dragged into it anyway but, well-

It was the thought that counted, at least.

\--

Stephanie was honestly a bit relieved that she wasn't having this conversation with Cass face-to-face. If she was, then Cass would probably have some concerns about how _entirely sincere_ her threat was. As it was, she eyed the lovely knife set that Tish got her and Tim for their anniversary with heavy consideration.

Ultimately, more then a little reluctantly, she turned away. She didn't want to deal with the fallout if she got caught dumping Tim's minced corpse into the harbor, and he was still working on the Blake case in hopes of it leading him to Zsasz and getting the guy locked back up before he could get back on his feet and become approximately a dozen times harder to deal with.

(He was approximately a _hundred_ times harder to deal with, back when he was mostly just working for Sionis, But. Well, he doesn't really have _that_ option anymore, now does he?)

Cass abruptly hung up on her, not answering her mostly-rhetorical question. That was fine, Cass just did that sometimes- she wouldn't know how or when to end a conversation, especially over the phone, and just cut the call when she didn't have anything else to say. At least she'd gotten better at saying _goodbye_ first, so Stephanie didn't think her phone just had a choppy connection.

Maybe she'd get bloody revenge when he got home, she huffed, pulling her phone from her ear and making _another_ call. For now she'd settle for the next best thing.

"Hey, Dick? You wanna help me out with something?" She asked, laying it on a bit thick with her mischievous tone. She didn't want to _worry_ the man, God knows he has enough on his plate.

"I guess it depends." He replies after a beat of thought. "What do you need help with?"

"Do you remember my little picture perfect pet project, way back when?"

"Mhm. the one where you tried to sneak a snap of Tim in his civvies?" Dick checked. Steph smiled- she only half expected him to _actually_ remember, and hadn't expected he'd do so almost instantaneously.

"Yes, that one. I was thinking about redoubling my efforts, now that I have more skill and resources." She revealed.

"Are you...sure?" He said, a bit hesitantly. "Isn't Timmy, sensitive about that? I don't want to shove him out of his comfort zone just for the hell of it." He fretted.

She held back a frustrated noise. It wasn't _his_ fault that she'd forgotten about it so long, but it _was_ probably Tim's, and she wanted to get back at that little shit _yesterday._

With time and prodding and trust and then _more_ trust, she had pretty much figured out his problem with cameras. Obviously, it was an _Addams_ thing, because most of Tim's especially weird quirks were. He could change how he looked, and had admitted to having identity issues in the past that made keeping a consistent appearance...tricky. It was fine for Robin because he basically just mashed together Jason and Dick, but as _Tim_ he hadn't settled for a _while._ Not even for a year or so after she got clued in and he could lean on her more.

But, with patience and love and venting and exploration and comfort and love and independence and _love,_ he had recently, _finally,_ seemed to fit neatly into his own skin, and she was so _damn proud,_ and twice as happy.

Apparently, damn happy enough to _forget_ about the promise she made to herself, all those years ago, and now Tim was going to pay her back in _blood._

Or, at the _very_ least, blackmail.

\--

Dick listens to Steph's plan. It's a pretty good plan, if he did say so himself. A borderline-malicious one, too, but still. Structurally sound, persuasive, well thought out. All things it was shamefully easy to forget she was.

"And you're...sure it's okay?" He asks for the third time, turning the details over in his head, looking for holes. He didn't find many. "Tim is...." Dick trailed off, not quite sure how to end the sentence. 

Tim wasn't really _fragile_ or _sensitive,_ or even _easy to freak out._ He was, generally, just about the opposite of all of those things.

 _Generally._ Dick just wanted to be careful. He knew photography was _really_ important to the boy, and was maybe a bit too cautious of stepping on his toes. But if Steph was wrong, if this went sideways....

Dick thought about the first and _only_ time he hid _The Complete Works of Jane Austen_ from Jason, the screaming-nearly-crying fit that followed, the look of betrayal in the little Robin's eye.

Steph sighed, making an annoyed sound he could tell she'd been holding back for a while. "Dick. Darling. Dude. All due respect, this is _Tim."_ Steph emphasized, almost offended. "I know Tim better then I know the days of the week and the colors in the rainbow. He'll live, and he'll get over it, and he _deserves it."_ She hissed, offense fading back into her incenced tirade that was, admittedly, getting more tempting by the word.

"It _is_ a good plan." He tells her, because she deserves to hear things like that more often, and because it's mostly true. "And it _does_ sound fun." He admitted, excitement starting to build. Shedding his earlier concern, it could be a half decent bonding exercise, even. 

"So you're in?" she checked, voice thrumming with excitement.

"Yeah." Dick nodded, mirroring the tone. "I'm in." 

\--

Something was wrong, Tim idly realized one morning, from far for the first or last time. Sometimes something waswrong in a mundane way, or an annoying one, or a strange one, or even, on occasion, in an _oh shit this is bad_ way. It was always hard to tell until it happened, though, so he pushed the thought aside and continued on with his- well, not morning, but just-woke-up routine, walking mindlessly to the kitchen, checking his phone for anything important while waiting for coffee, and migrating down to the-

Oh. He'd been, like, _entirely_ tackled. Huh.

He tensed up, ready for a fight, eyes snapping over and sleep flushed with adrenaline.

"Good _morning,_ Timmy!" Dick crowed, as if this was an entirely normal greeting. Tim headbutted Dick's shoulder _hard,_ half as revenge for scaring him, and half to hide his smile before it- god forbid- encouraged this behavior in the future.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of yellow, and a small _click_ wasn't quite hidden by Dick's ever-perfectly timed laugh. He generously chose not to mention it, though suspicion crawled around his intestines like an ant. 

"It's nearly sunset." Tim pointed out blankly. "And I'm going straight back to bed. Just woke up to make sure nothing was actively on fire and cancel my board meeting tomorrow."

Dick cooed something about _self care_ and _so proud_ and wheedled a promise for brunch in Bludhaven in a month before the demon brat stormed in and wrestled him off for patrol prep. 

Overall, it was...nice, admittedly. He didn't get to spend as much time as he'd like with Dick.

In fact, it was nice enough that he _continued_ not to mention the _snap snap snap_ that followed their impromptu cuddling, curling up right there on the couch and content to let the warm impression of his big brother ward off any nightmares. He almost drifts of to sleep, mind dancing in-between rest and wake, when he hears a considering hum and, again, a _snap._

"Ya know," He hummed through a yawn, "I was sneakier when I was _nine_ then you have been all day."

"Sure. But the important part is I _win."_ She dismissed, insult having nearly _no_ effect on her excitement. "I _told you_ I would get a decent adorably normal shot of you being an adorably normal dorky goof, and I _did."_

"Mm." He shrugged, smirk pulling at his lips. "Shoulda warned me, then. I blinked."

Silence, for a moment, and then the quiet _tap tap tap_ of someone cycling through a camera roll. Tim curled further into the couch and hoped he could fuse with it and pass the _fuck_ out in the near future.

"That," Steph said, voice _dangerously_ level, "Is fucking _cheating,_ Timothy."

"Mm." He responded intelligently, then- "No Fires inside the manor."

"I wasn't going to set you on fire!" Steph said, lying. Tim didn't even bother looking at her, just glared judgmentally into the couch and assumed the sentiment translated. "And if I, by chance, _did,_ it would be totally deserved! I took the pictures, you were cute, the _least_ you could do is give me a good shot!"

" 's not how candid shots _work."_ He grumbled unapologetically, "You gotta get it natural. You can't orchestrate it and expect it to look how you thought it would, that's the _point."_

Steph, apparently out of arguments, promptly _flopped_ on top of him and loudly started bemoaning his betrayal, digging an elbow pointedly (but rather uselessly) into his side. As he finally _finally_ drifted off to sleep, sandwiched between Steph and the couch, and couldn't find it in himself to really be all that upset.

Though, perhaps, he'd reconsider just _giving_ her his picture, if she was going to be such a bastard about the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops didn't do a Babs perspective because I just kind of,,, ASSUMED I did I guess? Sorry but I couldn't figure out how to slip her in without throwing off the already-wonky flow of the story so. Oops.
> 
> Anyway, hoped you all like it! also realized I had this marked as having three chapters; that was a typo, it's just two. But I DO have further plans! A little taste of the one I'm working on now, for spice:  
> \--  
> Her death, halfway across the world and more sudden then a lightning strike is...It's a lot of things. A surprise, first and foremost. A tragedy, just about last. An act of spite, quite possibly. Probably, even, Tim would argue. How could he explain any of that to Dick?
> 
> "Woah, woah Tim, slow down. Your Mom didn't choose to die. She was kidnapped. That's- think about it logically, Timmy. She didn't die just to spite you, she was- she was murdered." Dick sighed, creeping closer and looking Tim in the eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong, and neither did she."
> 
> (in which Janet is dead and Tim has all the wrong feelings about it, but at least he gets free cuddles from his brother. Also Wednesday calls him, which is Fun.)  
> \--

**Author's Note:**

> I literally cannot stress enough how heavily the absence of an Addams Family Batfam AU has haunted me for YEARS. Shoutout to a pair of one shots from more then half a decade ago* that have left me gnawing at the bit for more the past few years until I finally just got up and tried to write something myself lmao. Expect more shortly because I'v got at least another one shot or two after this one is written out. And feel free to ask questions or propose situations in the comments!! 
> 
> Happy Val's day darlings, stay safe <3
> 
> *inspirations  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/618062 - 'An Addams' by LectorEL  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/914899 'Official' by heartslogos.


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